The Not So Raw Recruit Affair
by lilidelafield
Summary: This tale was my first attempt to write an origins story for Napoleon and Illya, so I finished it off and tidied it up, and here we are. Here Napoleon and Illya meet for the first time in New York, and his new partner is not quite what Napoleon had expected...


The Nor So Raw Recruit

Illya Kuryakin stared out of the window, watching the Statue of Liberty slowly come into focus, and then swing away as the plane began to circle. So many things had changed in the last couple of years. The Soviet Union agreeing to adopt the principles of the UNCLE organization, opening an UNCLE office of its own in Moscow, and one of the first members of staff to be drafted in had been Lieutenant Kuryakin, Soviet Navy, former KGB agent.

His assignment had at first been as a research scientist, and then given his experience as a former KGB agent, they had decided he was wasted in research and drafted him into Operations. Illya had been content to serve wherever he was assigned, even though his first love had always been in the scientific arena. Then had come the request from UNCLE section one chiefs globally for the Soviet office to release some of its personnel for survival training and reassignment elsewhere. In return Moscow would receive a number of experienced agents from other offices. To his surprise, Moscow had been enthusiastic about the plan, and Illya's name had been the first to be forwarded as a candidate, subject to approval. So here he was. He had been flown directly to some secret island retreat where he had spent several months in intense training. His previous KGB acquired expertise in explosives had been welcomed a great deal more than he had himself. He had been directed to remain behind after graduation to teach a class about explosives. On his eventual release from the survival school, he had received the assignment to work in UNCLE's New York HQ as a Section Two agent, Enforcement.

Idly he wondered how long he would last in New York? Soviet and American relations were not currently at their best, and whilst he had no objection to working and living in America, he was aware that many if its citizens would have other ideas. He had been warned from the first that America may not be the easiest assignment, but as Russia's first UNCLE export as it were, expectations of him were high; back home, at least.

Alexander Waverly looked up as someone knocked on his office door.

"Come in Mr. Solo!" he called. Napoleon Solo, New York's Chief Enforcement Agent grinned and came inside. Waverly gestured him to a seat and leaned forward over his desk, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Mr. Solo, we are receiving our new section two agent this afternoon. He is fresh from Survival school, and I'm assignment him to be your partner."

Solo nodded slowly.

"A raw recruit, sir?"

"Yes, he is young…only just twenty-two but even so he has a wealth of experience and expertise behind him."

Solo raised an eyebrow.

"Sir, I have no objection to being partnered with a newbie, but wouldn't it be dropping the poor guy into the deep end a little? I don't exactly get the simple bodyguard jobs after all, sir."

Waverly nodded.

"I know, but I think you'll find this man is well up to the challenge. Let me tell you a little about him. He is a Soviet from the Ukraine, he has led a very hard life as I understand it. I need someone here who will not prejudge him based simply on his race. Neither should you let the fact that he is young put you off, Mr. Solo. He would have been here a few weeks ago, but he was kept behind at Survival School for over a month to teach an explosives class."

Solo nodded, impressed.

"That says a lot."

"Indeed."

Waverly handed over the file in his hand.

"Here are the available details about the young man's background. This is only what the Soviet Government has released. I venture to say Mr. Solo that it barely scrapes the surface as it were. Give it to Miss McNabb when you have finished with it."

With that, for the time being at least, the interview was over. Solo nodded his thanks and returned to his own office, the file under his arm. Sitting down at the desk, he leaned forward and started to read with interest.

As he read, he found his eyebrows rising higher and higher. If this was to be believed, this new Russian agent must be quite something. He had been inducted into the KGB whilst still a boy, placed by the KGB into the Soviet Navy for a couple of years undercover, and then transferred to the GRU, the Russian secret service. He had also been educated at Cambridge and at the Sorbonne in France. He had a doctorate already? Wow! Three Masters degrees…. Let's see. Solo read on. The man spoke fourteen languages? Seven of them fluently. The file went on to list his physical accomplishments; an expert in hand to hand combat, he had qualified as an Olympic athlete in running and swimming, but had been prevented from taking part because of his KGB duties. He had initially been recruited into the UNCLE's new Moscow office as a research scientist, but all his superiors considered his talents wasted in research. He was chosen by his government as their best representative to send as the first Russian UNCLE agent to attend survival school

Solo whistled, clearly impressed. The only thing that would go against him is being Russian, he thought. That might take some a while to get used to.

An hour later, still only halfway through reading the previous day's reports from his section two agents, Solo received the summons from Waverly that he had been waiting for. He couldn't help wondering what his new partner would look like? From the list of his accomplishments, Solo was half expecting to meet someone around seven-foot-tall and built like a Hercules, with a thick, hard to understand accent. Someone massive and intimidating. When he entered the room, however, the individual who stood for the introduction could hardly have been less so.

"Ah, Mr. Solo. Good. Mr. Kuryakin, I would like you to meet your new partner, Napoleon Solo. Mr. Solo, this is Mr. Illya Kuryakin."

Solo looked up at a slight, slender figure; twenty-two he may have been, but he looked no more than nineteen years old. Handsome in a fresh-faced way, with full lips, bright blond hair and cool blue eyes that took him in in a single intense gaze. He was dressed in a grey suit paired with a black turtle-necked sweater that somehow seemed to lend an air of litheness about him. Solo held out his hand. Kuryakin visibly hesitated before taking it, and shook very briefly before thrusting his hands back into his pockets again. Solo was slightly taken aback, but for the time being was prepared to put it down to shyness.

"Hello. Illya is it?"

"Yes. Hello Mr. Solo."

"Please, call me Napoleon."

The voice was soft and the accent not too pronounced and very pleasant to hear. The young man's eyes seemed to smile even though his mouth did not. The way he carried his head once again suggested to Solo shyness. Waverly smiled.

"Good. Mr. Kuryakin, I'm sure you will realize that there is likely to be a little tension in the air at first from one or two members of staff at your presence here. Please try to overlook it if you can. Sometimes it takes perseverance and determination to pry open a closed mind. Mr. Solo here is our chief enforcement agent, so he will be able to assign you a comfortable office close to his own. We have assigned you quarters within the village complex which you are free to keep for as long as you require them. They are not large, which is why many of our personnel prefer to find their own accommodations elsewhere; but they are comfortable and furnished. Do you have your luggage with you?"

"Miss Linnet in reception is kindly looking after my luggage for me, sir."

"Very well. Mr. Solo, I'll leave it to you to show Mr. Kuryakin the building and help him to settle in."

"Thank you, sir." Kuryakin said as they left the room together.

"So you flew in straight from the island today?"

"Yes."

"Did you have a good flight?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Here is your office, Illya. It's rather small and tends to get stuffy in the summer, but it's all yours. By morning you'll have a name card to put on the outside of the door, and your stationary and office supplies will be here from requisitions. Anything you need in that line, just let the secretary know and she will keep you supplied."

Solo kept up a light chatter as he showed his new partner around the building. Kuryakin said very little, but his cool blue eyes missed nothing. They both noticed how conversations seemed to dry up when they hove into sight, and they couldn't fail to hear the whispers that started as they were leaving. Nothing negative was said directly in Kuryakin's hearing that he was able to tell, but he couldn't help but be aware of a few curious glances from one or two around the building, and wherever they went, he could feel eyes burning into the back of his neck. He was not sorry when they finally returned to reception, handed in their badges and Solo picked up two of the waiting suitcases. The third case which Kuryakin hung over his shoulder on a wide strap looked like a guitar case. The fourth he picked up and carried very tenderly looked like a giant guitar case or an overblown violin case. After a moment's thought, Solo realized what it must be…a cello. So this new man was musical?

"If you're ready, I'll take you to your apartment and you can settle in."

"Thank you."

The new agent followed Solo to the nearby apartment block and up the stairs to the third floor. Solo handed his new partner a set of keys.

"The largest is the door key. The smallest is the key to the alarm system. You can reset it for a password or a code instead if you want to rather than relying on a key… I don't know about you but I find keys often disappear at the most inopportune moments."

"Quite." Kuryakin replied politely, opening the door and disabling the alarm with surprising efficiency. He stepped inside and looked around, his eyebrows rising in pleasure.

"'Afraid it isn't the largest apartment in town." Solo told him in an apologetic tone, "but it's all yours at any rate. It'll do until you can find yourself something better."

"Better?" Kuryakin was still staring around him in almost childlike wonder. "This is all mine? Just for me?"

"Of course." Solo tried not to show his surprise, but his companion was not taken in. Solo put the two cases he was carrying on the floor and glanced round at the single large room that was the entire apartment. A small kitchenette in the furthest corner, a door leading to the tiny bathroom, a circular table with four chairs around it, and a large, overstuffed sofa was about all there was. An empty bookcase sat against the wall under the window, with a small battery powered radio on top. A cupboard against the other wall which presumably was a wardrobe, and that was all. It left very little space for anything else. Napoleon decided that this entire apartment would almost fit inside his bathroom. But his new partner looked anything but disappointed. He smiled for the first time.

"In UNCLE Moscow, I had to share a room smaller than this with two other agents…there was only two beds and we had to either sleep in shifts or one of us make do with the floor."

"Oh. Well this is all yours. The sofa pulls out into a bed. You'll find blankets and everything in the cupboard. I have a couple of chores to run, but I was planning a supper in the eatery around the corner. Would you join me? My treat."

Solo could see Kuryakin consider the state of his stomach, and he nodded gravely.

"Thank you, I would like that."

"Great. I'll come for you at six then."

"Six. Thank you. Napoleon."

Napoleon Solo smiled and left. Kuryakin closed the door behind him and looked around. Well, this was it. He was here, in America. From the way Solo had apologized for it, this apartment must be rather small and basic by general standards; but this was more luxury than he had ever had before. He seized the sofa and opened it up into a bed. He grabbed a cushion for a pillow and lay down flat, just as he was. It had been a long flight, and he was weary. He lay looking up at the ceiling, thinking over his new appointment.

He had started life in the survival school as the subject of whispers about ` _Red_ ', and ` _Russkie'_ , but before the term was half over, he had won over all his comrades, many of them even apologizing for their initial hostility. He had half hoped to be assigned back to Moscow. At least there he was sure that he belonged. But it was not to be. When he had been handed his new assignment, he had been told that the Chief of UNCLE New York had specifically requested him as a member of UNCLE NY. Waverly's reputation preceded him, as a clever man, a talented leader and a great humanitarian. He had certainly given him a very warm welcome. And then there was Napoleon Solo.

Unlike many of his colleagues, Solo seemed very like his boss. Friendly, open-minded and welcoming. Illya was not accustomed to being open with anyone, or of anyone being so with him. He had learned the hard way to keep all his doors tightly closed in defense against a harsh world. He was not sure he would be able to learn to live this American way. Perhaps his new partner would help him adjust. He closed his eyes, surprised to find that he was looking forward to meeting Napoleon later for supper.

Napoleon Solo decided to walk back to his new partner's apartment rather than driving. It was not too far, and walking would provide, he hoped, more time for he and Illya to talk, get to know each other a bit.

He knocked on the door, but received no reply. He knocked more loudly and suddenly the door opened, and Illya stood there, peering blearily through sleep laden eyes and yawning widely.

"Oh, Napoleon…is it six already?"

Napoleon grinned.

"Almost. Are you alright? It must have been a very long day for you."

Kuryakin almost smiled.

"Sorry, I just fell asleep. I'll quickly change. Two minutes."

He vanished into the bathroom with one of his still unopened suitcases and returned just a few minutes later having freshened up and changed his clothes. He was now wearing a navy blue suit and a white polo shirt.

As they waited for their meal to arrive, Napoleon regarded the Russian. He looked so young, almost too young. It was incredible that this young man had achieved so much. Waverly had said he had lived a pretty hard life. Solo couldn't really imagine what it must have been like, growing up where he did. The earliest years of his life would have been about the time of the Nazi invasion of his homeland. Things had become pretty unbearable by all accounts. It said a lot about the young man that he had made it this far at all.

"So, what prompted you to join UNCLE, Illya?"

"I was working for GRU in Paris when the UNCLE office was about to open in Moscow, and they were looking for appropriate people to staff it. I was recalled home and drafted in. When it was decided to train Soviet UNCLE members for section two, again I was drafted, given my orders and put on a plane."

Solo furrowed his brow.

"So does this mean you are still working for Russian Intelligence, on attachment to UNCLE?"

Kuryakin shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"I wondered if you would be concerned about that. Mr. Waverly was too, and he spent three weeks in conference and by all accounts arguments with my commanding officers in Moscow making sure that I was not to be pulled in two different ways."

"He wants all his agents to be dedicated to UNCLE, and not have to worry themselves about the politics or policies of any one individual country. He needs to be certain of our loyalty." Solo leaned back and smiled. "It's going to be interesting working with you my friend."

For the first time, the young Russian smiled.

"I have never had the opportunity to make any decision up until now what I was going to do. Every major decision in my life, others have always taken the choice out of my hands and made it for me. I always did what I was ordered. But when UNCLE opened in Moscow, I was not worried where I served, but I wanted to work in section two, so I was honoured to be chosen for training, and I was not disappointed at being sent here to New York."

"So you're not a defector? Sorry…."

"Don't be…but no, I am no defector, and as far as I am aware, I will always be welcomed should I ever return home."

"You must be pretty good. From the little I have heard of the KGB they take only the best and train their people well."

Kuryakin's expression was implacable. Solo frowned slightly.

"Sorry, I had no intention of prying. It was merely an observation."

The other shook his head slightly.

"No, it's all right, but I prefer to keep the past in the past if you don't mind."

"Of course."

"So do you have any hobbies?"

"Any what?" the Russian had not encountered the word before.

"Er…things you enjoy doing when you're not working."

"Reading."

"Reading?"

"Reading."

Trying to get information out of this man was like trying to get blood out of a stone. He responded to questions in as few words as possible, but asked none in return. Solo kept trying gamely until the food arrived and he was able to focus on his meal and forget about conversation for a minute or two. As he ate, he surreptitiously watched as his companion demolished his entire plateful in five seconds flat. Solo blinked, and for a moment, an image of war-torn Russia came to his mind, with little clothing, and a child such as Illya must have been learning at a young age to eat what he could whenever he could as decent meals would in all likelihood have been a rarity. He smiled as Illya raised his eyes half shyly and said thank you.

"If you're still hungry, go order some more. By the way, do you drink?"

Illya paused in the act of rising to his feet.

"Do I drink? My friend, I am Russian. I was virtually raised on vodka. Yes, I drink."

"Good, then there is a nice little bar I know on the way back…"

If alcohol doesn't loosen you a little, nothing will, Solo thought to himself as Illya walked over to the counter to order himself some more food.

Solo was quite surprised at the appetite his new partner displayed, and even more by the speed with which he packed it away.

"So, what attracted you about working for UNCLE?" Solo asked him once the food was gone. He wondered whether his companion would answer the question He seemed especially close-lipped with the personal info. Kuryakin put his head on one side, considering.

"I suppose the charter, the code of practice followed by the organization is one I am passionate about. I could have tried to defect in order to please myself, but in my experience any actions that come from impure or selfish motives usually backfire, so I did all I could to make sure that when the call came for Russian candidates, I was at the top of the list. I started in research to begin with, then later the chief of UNCLE Moscow decided my talents were going to waste and sent me to survival school. I think he was expecting my reassignment back to Moscow, but Mr. Waverly directed that I be assigned to New York."

"Would you have preferred to return to Moscow? I'm not sure how long it would take me to settle in, in an entirely alien culture, away from all my family and friends."

Kuryakin shrugged in an indifferent gesture, although his blue eyes looked vaguely defiant.

"I've never had friends. Not allowed. Only superiors and subordinates." He replied shortly. "No family either. Not for a long time. Very few people will weep over my loss. I am happy to be in New York though. I would have requested this posting if I had believed I had any chance of being accepted. So tell me about yourself Mr. Solo. How do you come to be an UNCLE agent?"

Solo grimaced slightly. Kuryakin noticed and frowned slightly.

"You do not have to answer if…"

"No no no, it's fine, really. A very normal question, but the truth is not something I am especially proud of…"

"I am intrigued."

Solo sighed slightly, and gave a half-grin.

"This is privileged information you understand? Only Alexander Waverly knows my background and I would rather it stays that way."

Kuryakin's eyes opened wide suddenly.

"You mean you are a criminal?"

"No! Certainly not…at least not exactly… oh my!" He dropped his face into his hands, and Kuryakin noticed the tips of his ears turning pinker than normal.

"I am interested to know your history Mr. Solo, but I do not expect you to tell me… there are things I…things I prefer to forget…"

"I understand, really. As far as your personal history goes, Illya, I have no idea, but I do know a little about the recent history of your people and the kinds of problems…if that is the right word… you may well have encountered…"

Illya grunted, but not disagreeably. Solo smiled slightly.

"We are what our upbringing and our past makes of us. I have a lot to thank Mr. Waverly for. I was active and probably too intelligent for my own good. No jobs to be found when I left school, but family… uh… problems meant I was not free to just leave home to find work elsewhere. I had to stay and help at home. I started to get restless and went out in the evenings and weekends whenever I was free looking for trouble. I started in with the wrong crowd who got me into… well, as you say some things I prefer to try and forget about."

Napoleon looked up and found Illya's eyes were bright, and watching him intensely. Slightly uncomfortable under the Russian's careful scrutiny, Napoleon lowered his eyes, but after a moment or two he continued with his story.

"At the age of sixteen I encountered a certain Alexander Waverly who had reason to notice that I had some abilities that he felt I could put to more constructive use. So I first came here as a runner. Once I had proven that I was trustworthy I was taken into section four as an apprentice…the rest is history. I was drafted to Korea, but when I was released from the army I came back to UNCLE and I was put straight into the agent training program. If it wasn't for UNCLE, and Mr. Waverly in particular I can only imagine where I might have ended up by now."

Illya sat back, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

"Our lives are affected so much by the actions of other people. Mr. Waverly helped you to become the man you are, and you have some idea of what you believe might have happened if you had not happened to meet him when you did. I spent many hours as a child torturing myself with wondering about the world of what ifs. What if Adolf Hitler had not been born? What if his mother had had a headache the night he was conceived? Would someone else have taken his place and caused world war two? Or would that war have never happened? If Hitler had not existed, the Nazis probably would never have risen to power, they would not have invaded my homeland…. My fa… many things in my life would have been different."

Solo nodded slowly.

"And that is really why you are here isn't it? The real reason you joined UNCLE? The reason I joined in the end? So that those little things that happen that can change the whole course of a person's life can be good things and not bad. So that people who…as you said earlier people who act out of selfish motives only can be stopped from making the impact that they could have made."

"Exactly." Illya said, smiling. "And this is where the conversation began I think. People who act out of impure or selfish motives find that things will blow up in their faces in the end…. If I have anything to say about it anyway."

They got up. Napoleon paid the bill and they went out into the dark street. Just a few blocks back down the street, they entered the bar Napoleon had spoken of. It was a comfortable large room with a slightly wild west feel about it. They ordered their drinks, Napoleon a double whisky and Illya a large vodka, and found themselves an unoccupied corner of the bar where they could converse in private and still have a view of the entire room. Solo was encouraged that Illya had headed straight for this spot without needing any pointers from him. Working for UNCLE for any period of time gave everyone a sense of awareness that they needed to remain alert, even when off duty. Solo sipped his whisky and regarded his new partner. Illya seemed completely at home here, even though just about every eye in the room turned to stare at him the moment he opened his mouth to speak. Illya merely gave the room an appraising glance, smiled shyly and turned his attention to his vodka. He spoke to Solo in a low voice, with a faint hint of amusement in his tone.

"I will have to work on my accent I think."

"Why?" Solo asked shortly.

Illya's eyes twinkled. When he replied, it was in a perfect British accent.

"Right now they are only staring. If I work harder on my Russian accent, I might succeed in getting thrown out of the next place."

He had spoken loud enough for the entire bar to hear. At that, it seemed all the patrons in the bar seemed to realize that they were staring, and there was a sudden hubbub as noise and chatter broke out once more. All were now studiously avoiding looking at the two men in the corner, as though realizing that they had been impolite. Solo chuckled, shaking his head.

"That was terrific Illya."

Illya shook his head.

"Not really." He replied, reverting to his usual soft Russian accent. "I've been practicing a little in private, but it takes effort to keep it up."

"No offense Illya, but why do you want to lose your accent anyway? Does it matter to you that people are so close minded?"

"Not really. People can stare all they want to. Besides if I keep my mouth shut, no one knows who I am or where I am from until they learn my name. But I prefer people to get to know me on my terms. That way I know their friendship is for real."

"So why practice accents? Are you an aspiring actor on the side?"

Illya shrugged.

"Who knows when it might come in useful? I can do various accents now, even yours Napoleon, but as it takes a lot of concentration to keep it up for any length of time, I find it rather taxing."

"So you're the guy for undercover work then? Good. That's settled."

Kuryakin looked amused. He lifted his glass and downed his vodka in one.

"So Mr. Waverly thinks you and I will make a good team. That means you must have skills that compliment mine. Have I passed the test yet?"

"Passed the test?"

"The fact that you are the chief enforcement agent, and I am a great deal younger than you are, and only just out of the training school, and thus very…what word do you use…. green…must have made you a little concerned that I may not be quite what you need as a partner."

Solo frowned, but Kuryakin was smiling gently. He did not speak as though he had any doubts at all about his own abilities. He was not at all certain whether the words were meant in jest or as a serious question. He decided to answer it seriously all the same.

"You are a lot younger than our usual new recruits, but I have read your file… I couldn't help being impressed with what I read. All the same I prefer to judge a man based on what I see. Right now you seem active and intelligent, insightful and thoughtful. All are important attributes to have. Your file says you were KGB too, so you will likely have experienced a great deal of field work."

"Field work with the GRU, yes, but that was more intelligence work, not quite along the same lines as law enforcement. The KGB training program though prepares an agent for pretty much anything."

"Oh I don't know, Illya. Some things are hard to prepare yourself for until you get there. Being captured and tortured for information springs to mind. We are trained to withstand all the usual drugs and techniques, but every man has his level I suppose."

"You mean by that the point at which they can't stand the pain any longer and give in?"

"Yes, I guess."

Illya was frowning. Solo looked puzzled.

"You appear to think I am wrong about that?"

"The human body can withstand any amount of pain, Napoleon. You stand so much, and then the brain protects itself from further trauma by shutting down. That is a matter of common knowledge. The rest of it is as much about fear as it is the pain. Do you fear the pain more, or the damage that is being done to your body and whether or not that damage can be repaired? But putting that aside, one essential element of my KGB training was making the distinction between pain and fear, and realizing that people hate the fear more than they hate the pain. The knowledge that breaking and giving in to the torment will result in worse torment when you return home is enough to ensure that you _never ever_ are tempted to break, even if you have to die for it."

"That's a brutal policy!"

"It's an effective one. Believe me, Napoleon, the KGB are far more efficient than THRUSH could ever be at using minimum effort to create the worse imagined pain."

"You sound like you speak from personal experience."

"Yes."

The word came out blandly, but it sent chills up and down Solo's spine.

"You realize if THRUSH find that out about you, you may find yourself being viewed as something of a challenge?"

"I hate pain, Napoleon, and I am the world's worst patient. I seek aspirin for the least headache; but I am not afraid of it. I do not fear pain; I merely hate it. I hate more the knowledge that organizations like THRUSH demand information out of you as a right, and are prepared to go to any lengths to secure it, even when they do not deserve such knowledge. I know me well enough to know that the self-loathing I would experience after breaking is enough to ensure that I never will. That is the only thing that concerns me about working with a partner."

"That your partner….me…will one day break under pressure and give you away?"

"No, no, not that. But when you are working closely with a partner, the partner is likely to become your Achilles' heel. If they can't torture you into submission, all they need do is force you to watch your partner being tortured, and then you have to decide whether you value your own integrity more than your partner's life. That makes it a… what is that phrase you use? A whole different ball game."

Damn, this man is good, thought Napoleon. He has given this whole thing a great deal of thought, right down to the details of what might happen when and if. He couldn't help wondering what Kuryakin's decision would be in the last scenario. Would he talk to save his partner or would he stick to his principles and watch his partner suffer? Come to that, what would _he_ do in that situation? Napoleon looked into the Russian's cool blue eyes and saw something hard and icy within their depths. Young he might be, but Napoleon definitely would not like to cross him. He had an idea that this young man could be very ruthless when he chose. He could not think of a reply that did not sound like a challenge, so he took refuge in his drink, looking around him at the comings and goings of the patrons. His companion was watching him carefully.

"I have made you uncomfortable I think." Kuryakin commented in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I apologize. I have not been quite this forthright with anyone before."

"Have you not?" Solo got up and patted Illya on the back. "Well partner, I wouldn't have it any other way. I would rather you were direct and honest with me, than leave me trying to guess what you're thinking. Let me be forthright with you now. You called yourself _green_ earlier." He said with a smile, "…and when Mr. Waverly told me my new partner was coming to us fresh from Survival School, I admit I expressed concern about your being a _newbie_ , considering the kind of assignments I usually get. But you don't strike me as being particularly _green_ Illya, and although you may be new to Section two, you don't fit any of the stereotypes of a _newbie_ either."

Illya's eyes twinkled at his new partner.

"So do you know what you would do in the partners' scenario? Or will I have to wait and find out?"

Solo exhaled slowly.

"You know; I have no idea what I would do. My head says that I would refuse to give in and so would my partner, so tell them to do their worst. My heart on the other hand…"

Illya grinned widely. He held out his hand.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Napoleon Solo."

That evening, Solo sat back on his sofa, looking out at the twinkling night skyline thinking over his surprising day. His new partner had expressed thoughts and views that appeared to bely his young age, and gave hints of a quick and intelligent mind behind the ridiculously young looking visage. Illya's common facial expression seemed to be one of grim efficiency, unsmiling and serious. And yet already Solo suspected there was a great deal more to this skinny Russian than met the eye. To hell with stereotypes; Illya Kuryakin did not fit in with a single one of them. It would be interesting tomorrow to give the man a try out in the gym and see how quick he was at the physical side of the job.

The next morning, when Solo arrived at reception, he was told on enquiry, that his new partner had arrived two hours ago and had headed straight down to the gym for a warm-up before Solo's expected assessment. Solo headed for the cloakroom and changed, and entered the gym quietly, standing there watching what was going on.

Kuryakin was standing in the middle of the crash-mat in a defensive stance, surrounded on all sides by his fellow section two agents. One by one they were attacking him, using every trick they knew. Kuryakin fought them all off, as one might brush a snowflake from a pristine sleeve. He didn't even appear to have broken a sweat. The attackers speeded up the pace, and now Kuryakin had two or more assailants at any one time, but completely unfazed, he simply switched tactics, using combinations of various disciplines and threw them all off with apparent ease. Finally, Solo stepped forward, his hands raised above his head.

"All right, all right, this is enough guys. Don't wear him out, I haven't started on him yet!"

Good naturedly, the group split off and returned to their other activities, several of them giving the Russian a hearty pat on the shoulder as they left.

"What was all that about?"

Kuryakin shrugged.

"Just a bit of sparring, that is all."

"Ten to one, and you took them on?"

"Forget it. There was no malice in it. Not in the end, anyway."

"You mean that started out as more than a piece of harmless sparring?" Solo was frowning in displeasure. The blue eyes that met his own were positively icy.

"I said forget it Mr. Solo."

"But I won't have…"

Kuryakin reached out with one hand, grabbed Solo's left wrist and with hardly a movement, he had flipped his partner onto the floor on his front, his left arm twisted behind him, with Kuryakin's knee firmly in his back.

"Mr. Solo, I appreciate you want to rush to my aid, but I would rather handle things my way. You see, things have been handled. They know who and what I am, what they can get away with and what they cannot. I am sure you are aware that you can learn as much about a man in a single fight as you can with a day of conversation."

Kuryakin released Solo and stood up. Solo looked around and had to admit, the Russian had a point. The guys were all laughing and joking, and there were no sideways glances, or whispers or any of the tense atmosphere there had been yesterday. This was one unusual man. He nodded.

"Well you put up a good account of yourself anyway. That was pretty impressive. How about a few exercises?"

Solo found that although Kuryakin was skinny as a rail, he was well covered with muscle, and he knew how to use his energy efficiently. No energy wasted in anything, and Solo found that if anything, Kuryakin was the superior in just about everything in the gym. No need for Solo to give him activities to work on, or advice on how to improve. Rather he found himself watching and picking up tips himself as he watched the younger man working out.

Now on the running machine, the man had run a sprint for several miles on the machine without becoming overtly tired, and had been jogging for well over half an hour without a break. True, he was now perspiring freely, but the man had now been in here for well over four hours. Damn, he was fit! Solo had been covertly testing him since they first met; and he suspected that Kuryakin was well aware of the fact. He had yet to find any weaknesses in him. Next was the doctor's full physical, and if he passed that, Kuryakin would be certified for field work. He gestured to the Russian.

"Time to hit the showers now." He told him. "When you're done, don't get dressed. Just put on your skivvies and a bathrobe and carry your clothes to medical."

"Why?"

"Full physical."

"What, now? Immediately after a four-hour work-

out?"

"What better time? Come on, when we're done I'll buy you lunch in the commissary."

"The what?"

"The commissary…where our meals are supplied. Saves us having to go out for food. We have an appointment with Mr. Waverly at three."

Doctor Peter Simpson was thorough in this, his first examination of the new section two agent. He put Kuryakin through his paces, and checked his full health and fitness. When he was done, a row of neatly labelled test tubes sat on the bench, waiting to go down to the lab for testing.

"Stay here Mr. Kuryakin. I'll have the blood test results in an hour."

"Do I pass doctor?"

"Sit and wait for the test results and we'll see." Simpson replied with a tight smile and disappeared. Kuryakin, for lack of anything else to do, lay back on one of the beds, placed his hands comfortably behind his head and closed his eyes. Within a few seconds, he was gently snoring.

Napoleon Solo sat in Waverly's office, waiting as his boss read Solo's initial report on his new agent. He was nodding and raising his eyebrows from time to time, and finally he put the folder aside and looked up.

"Suffice it to say, Mr. Solo, you are impressed with our new Russian friend?"

"Impressed is hardly the word, sir." Solo replied. "I'm not sure the man is even entirely human. He never seems to tire, he's better at hand to hand fighting than I am, Cutter's report from Survival Island says he was already an expert marksman when he arrived for training… does the man have any weaknesses at all?"

"What about his fitness report from Medical?"

"He's in there now, sir. They should be almost done. He's coming straight up here when the doc has finished with him."

There was a knock on the door.

"Speak of the devil…" Solo muttered, but to their surprise, it was Doctor Simpson.

"Doctor. Where is Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Asleep in medical, sir." The doctor replied.

"Asleep? Is he sick?"

Smiling, the doctor shook his head.

"No, the man is fully fit and healthy. He is just very tired, So I thought I'd give him an extra ten minutes' nap before I wake him up and bring you his report in person."

Waverly nodded.

"So, what do you make of our Russian import? Ready for active duty?"

The doctor paused for a moment. Solo frowned.

"He is healthy you said doc'?"

Simpson nodded.

"Oh, he is one hundred percent healthy sir, and very fit. He has a large number of scars on his body… he has been very badly treated at some point in the past…within the last seven or eight years I would say. Everything from knife or cutlass slashes to beatings and whippings. He is slightly malnourished. He is not underweight, sir, I need to make that clear, but his rest results show a distinct lack of the some of the essential nutrients that keep us healthy."

"Is that why he is so skinny?" Solo asked. The doctor shook his head.

"Probably not. He is not unhealthy in any way, and I have no hesitation in saying that he is in every way fit for active duty, but this lack of nutrients is a cause for concern. It may simply be a lack of a decent diet over an extended period of time, in which case putting him on a special diet coupled with vitamin supplements for a few weeks should alleviate the problem. I would like to perform some further testing to make sure that this problem is not caused by something more sinister. My recommendation sir, is that Mr. Kuryakin continue to work here in HQ for the time being, wherever you can make use of him, and he is put on a special diet that I will work out for him. In five days I will evaluate him again. If his readings have risen to within acceptable parameters, he can be passed for active duty."

"I wonder that the doctor at Survival School didn't pick up on the same thing?"

"The report from Doctor Chivers simply reports that he is fit and healthy with no outstanding health issues. I will be contacting him, but there is just one more thing that is worth mentioning. There does seem to be something in his psyche tests that I found a little puzzling."

"Really?" Waverly and Solo responded together. Simpson nodded.

"Every time the picture or sounds of fire came up, I mean bonfire type fire, his adrenalin levels leapt off the chart for a brief moment, then returned to normal. The same response was recorded whenever the image of confinement was shown on the screen."

"Fire and confinement, eh?" Waverly was thoughtful. Simpson nodded.

"His other responses did not fluctuate. Our conclusion for that is that Mr. Kuryakin suffers from an unreasoning fear of fire, and also acute claustrophobia, but that he has learned, probably through necessity, to control his fear, and betray nothing to others…unless of course they are keeping track of his adrenalin levels."

Solo glanced round.

"To suffer from any kind of phobia and not to betray it outwardly in any way is quite some achievement."

Simpson nodded.

"Everything we have found about Mr. Kuryakin appears to confirm that he has had an extremely hard life. A life involving beatings and severe mis-treatment, hunger and deprivation. He is very much a product of his past. That he has reached his current situation in life has to be put down very much to his credit. I want it put on record that my delaying in approving him for duty must not in any way be construed as a negative thing, but simply that it is the wish of Medial that his strength and stamina is reinforced before he is called upon to expend himself in the field."

Waverly nodded approvingly.

"Noted."

"I left him sleeping in medical. I'll go and wake him now. Would you like me to give him his report or…?"

"That is all right doctor Simpson, if I tell him, he won't argue or try to change my mind."

"He'll be upset."

Solo was uncertain about that.

"Illya and I have been doing a lot of talking the last couple of days, sir. One thing I have learned is that he is incredibly intelligent, and supremely honest too. If his past has been how you describe it doctor, it is at least possible that he will appreciate that UNCLE is an organization that cares about the welfare of its agents. When he realizes that he is not being criticized, that he is not letting anyone down in any way, but that this delay is for his own benefit, he'll accept it. He'll be disappointed to be sure…."

For the most part, Solo was correct in his assessment. Illya was disappointed, but his quick mind immediately saw that the precautions made sense. He was encouraged that he was still included in all of the mission briefings, and he had found that his knowledge of technology and sciences had come in useful several times during the briefings. His role at HQ was still an invaluable one, even though for the time being he was prevented from being out there himself.

His mouthful of languages proved especially useful, in particular when a captured THRUSH was brought in by Mr. Solo who insisted on speaking only in Polish, convinced that there would be no one here in the New York UNCLE office who would be able to understand him. The man was aware that if he was correct about the language barrier, UNCLE would have no choice but to transfer him somewhere where the language would not be an issue… giving THRUSH opportunity to effect a rescue. Illya had had fun standing in the interrogation room observation gallery, where he was able to give Solo a running translation of the man's speech using a newly developed ear-piece with a radio receiver. The foul language that spewed from the man's lips when he realized he had inadvertently given away many of THRUSH's secrets whilst under the mistaken impression that he was not being understood made Illya want to laugh in his face.

The only thing that really bothered Napoleon was the idea that Illya, despite being upbeat and friendly, really did not relish the idea of working with a partner. He had said it, hadn't he _?_

" _when you are working closely with a partner, the partner is likely to become your Achilles' heel. If they can't torture you into submission, all they need do is force you to watch your partner being tortured, and then you have to decide whether you value your own integrity more than your partner's life_."

Did that mean that Kuryakin felt that having to work with a partner would be a disadvantage in some way? To be fair, he had not given that impression in any other way, but the fact that he had called a partner a potential Achilles' heel worried him more than he had realized at the time. It was the one part of their conversation which kept returning to his mind again and again. Sooner or later he would have to address the issue. He would have to ask his new partner about it. For the time being, it could wait. The man was not even out in the field yet.

A week later, Kuryakin found himself once again down in medical, being checked out once again. If anything, his fitness levels were higher than they had been a week ago, and he sat and waited in nervy silence whilst the blood tests were carried out. This time Solo waited beside him, knowing how important this moment was for the Russian.

In the week or so that Kuryakin had been in New York, the two had become friends. Kuryakin had decided from the start to just be himself, and let his fellow agents judge him for what he was. Somehow it had worked. There were one or two still whom he suspected were a little wary of him, but he felt no awkward silences, no tense atmosphere. On the contrary, after the first slightly frosty day or two, everyone had welcomed him warmly. Solo on the other hand had been warm and welcoming right from the very first moment. He was clearly a natural at his job, which went a long way to settling Kuryakin's mind about working with him. Although they were opposites in so many ways, they seemed to get on like a house on fire, to use the western analogy. Their skills too covered different areas, but between them they appeared to have all the bases covered. Illya couldn't wait to get out there in the field and do the job. He glanced round and found Solo was watching him with a smirk on his handsome face.

"What's with you?"

The smirk became a grin.

"You my friend. You're looking nervous."

"I just want to be passed."

"Can't wait to join me on the road eh? Well there's no denying your general fitness for duty, Illya. Simpson said that last week. So long as you've been following his diet plans, you should be fine."

Illya gave a dry laugh.

"Have you seen it? It wouldn't keep a mouse alive. But yes, I have followed it…. more or less."

"More or less?"

"Actually, mostly more."

Doctor Simpson returned with his report within the hour and smiled at the expectant faces.

"Well Mr. Kuryakin, I am happy to tell you that your readings are now what I would categorize as healthy and blooming. There is no longer any imminent danger of your collapsing from malnourishment after excessive exercise, or deprivation. I know what you Enforcement agents are like once you get onto the job. You are passed for active field duty. Congratulations."

The grin that appeared on Kuryakin's face was a sight to behold, and it lasted all the way up to Mr. Waverly's office. When they went in, the section one chief took one look at his newest agent and held out his hand.

"I take it you have been passed Mr. Kuryakin? Congratulations. Do you have the doctor's written report for your file?"

"Thank you, sir. Yes, sir, here it is."

Illya handed over the doctor's report and after exchanging a pleased glance with his partner, they sat down. Waverly read the document then and there, and then pressed a button on the console in front of him.

"Miss Wilkins, can you bring the Kohliad file to my office please?"

"Yes sir." Came a voice over the speaker. The door opened and the senior secretary came in clutching a file in her hand. She handed it to Waverly who took it with a nod and handed her Doctor Simpson's report on Kuryakin.

"Thank you. This is Mr. Kuryakin's fitness report from Doctor Simpson, will you put in his personal file please."

The young woman took the report and crossed the room to the tall filing cabinet beside the door and shuffled through until she found the desired folder and filed the report away safely. Then with a smile and a nod at Kuryakin, she quietly left. Left alone once more, Waverly handed the thick Kohliad file to Solo.

"This is your first assignment together, gentlemen." Waverly told them. "The Kohliad is the codename for a new project we believe THRUSH is developing that needs to be nipped in the bud. Here are the details…"


End file.
